


Valles Marineris

by rohkeutta



Series: Mesmeria [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bucky’s a fucking masterpiece.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He’s all ink and long, lean muscle; sculpted like a statue with the halo of dark hair around his head. Hermes, Steve thinks, protector of thieves and travelers.</i>
</p><p>A missing scene from Mesmeria. Also known as the shameless smut coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valles Marineris

**Author's Note:**

> This is the coda I named affectionately as "Awkward Porn Coda", because I've never written smut in English (we really don't talk about the Finnish ones either. We just don't.) and wanted to get out of my comfort zone, and I thought it would be awkward and terrible. Turns out it wasn't that terribly awkward after all. Set between the second to last and the last scene in Mesmeria.
> 
> Valles Marineris ("Mariner valleys") is a system of canyons on Mars, and [a song by CMX](https://soundcloud.com/ratasmusic/cmx-valles-marineris), from the album Mesmeria.
> 
> HUGE thanks to lovely [queenofthewips](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithduvare/pseuds/queenofthewips) for offering solid advice and kicking my grammar errors' butt! I'm also very grateful to everybody who believed in my smut-writing abilities, lol.

It’s raining in Brooklyn: a steady, grey drizzle that makes everything look washed out and colorless. The Staten Island sunshine vanished when they hit the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge; the rain softens the edges and turns Brooklyn hazy and dirty, like Steve remembers from his childhood.

When Steve turns to the familiar street, Bucky laughs suddenly, breaking the silence. It’s a happy sound. “You kept the house?”

Steve laughs too, a little abashed. “I kept everything, Buck,” he says. “I haven’t sold anything, not a single piece of your stuff. We still have the Prenzlauer Berg place, and the apartment in Töölö. Those will need some good dusting, though.”

“Oh my god, you ass,” Bucky says fondly and flicks Steve’s forearm with his metal fingers. “You still pronounce it wrong. It’s Töö-lö, not Toh-loh. Sometimes I think you do it on purpose.”

“Hey,” Steve protests as he parks the car on the side of the street, a couple of houses down from their brownstone. “Not all of us can have your polyglot tongue.”

“Mm-hm,” Bucky hums. His slow, dirty smirk makes Steve’s blood rush south. “I’ll show you what my tongue is capable of.”

It sounds like a promise.

 

But when they get inside, Bucky goes very quiet. He drops his bag in the foyer, shrugs out of his jacket and then just stands there for a moment. Steve doesn’t push him. It’s the first time in over four years that Bucky’s been home, and it has to be overwhelming.

Bucky toes off his boots and wanders towards the living room, his human fingers ghosting the walls. It’s an old habit, feeling the texture of the wallpaper as he walks. Steve watches him go, eyeing the familiar gesture fondly as he kicks off his own shoes before heading to the kitchen to put some coffee on.

When Steve eventually goes looking for him, Bucky is standing in front of the living room bay window. He’s parted the curtains and is watching their backyard: it’s about the size of a stamp, but it’s part of the reasons they bought the house in the first place. Steve’s been neglecting it lately, not finding the time or willpower for gardening. In the drizzle it looks overgrown and wilting.

Bucky hasn’t turned on the light, and in the gloom of the room he looks hunched and vulnerable.

“I made coffee,” Steve says softly after watching him for a while.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Bucky asks, turning to look at Steve. He glances towards the backyard once more before he lets the curtain fall. Steve doesn’t dare to turn the light on. “Bringing me here.”

“A little,” Steve replies truthfully. “But we made this home together. You belong here as much as I do.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly and wanders to the bookshelf, tracing the spines of the books absently with his finger. “But it’s odd, being home. Nothing’s changed, except me.”

They are quiet for a while, and then Bucky asks, “Would you have gone to Vyborg?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, helplessly honest. “Probably. I-- I let your ghost go, before I followed you to Limbo.”

Bucky looks surprised. “Huh,” he murmurs and strokes the spine of Steve’s old copy of _The Great Gatsby_. “Do you think we could’ve made it work? If I were still Yasha.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s hard to say. Maybe it would’ve worked. Maybe it would’ve exploded in our faces sooner or later.”

“Mmh.” Bucky looks around the room. “Vyborg is beautiful, though. Rotting to hell, but beautiful. Here-- here it’s like time has stopped in 2011.”

It hurts to hear that. Steve knows that he hasn’t done anything to change the place, too keen on keeping Bucky’s memory alive by leaving their house untouched. The only exception is Bucky’s personal stuff, which is packed up in boxes and stored in the spare room. But the implication that this house is trapped in a bubble when Bucky’s latest hometown is still moving on? It sounds awfully much like Bucky would prefer going back to Russia, and Steve panics a little.

“I love you,” Steve blurts out in a pleading, desperate tone. “It still has to count for something, right?”

Bucky startles and turns to look at him, looking shocked. “What? No, _no_ , Steve, that’s not what I meant.” He crosses the room and grabs Steve by the shoulders, hauls him in. His grip is tight and scared, and Steve swallows, holding him close.

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky says against his neck. His voice sounds wet. “This won’t be easy, but I’m not going anywhere. I just got you back. I don’t give a fuck about Russia; I’ve loved you since I was 12, and I’m not stopping now.” Steve lets out a strangled sound, and Bucky pulls back, framing his face with his mismatched hands. “You listen to me, asshole,” he says in a breaking voice. “You’re the love of my goddamn life, and this will not destroy us. We’ll conquer it.”

Steve kisses him. It’s a little desperate and terrified, but Bucky arches up to it, and Steve tightens his hold as much as he dares. Bucky sighs, opening his mouth as he presses closer, and Steve marvels at the way his hands span across the tight muscle on Bucky’s waist. They kiss until they’re breathless and aching for more, and that’s familiar - Steve’s always been breathless around him.

“Take me to bed,” Bucky rasps out as he pulls back and presses their foreheads together.

“What about the coffee?” Steve asks stupidly, feeling a little light-headed. Bucky barks out a laugh and presses his pelvis fleetingly against Steve’s so that he can feel the hardening line of Bucky’s cock through his jeans.

“Fuck the coffee,” Bucky says, a little short of breath. “If you don’t take me upstairs this goddamn minute, I’ll kick you out to the backyard to do the weeding. God knows you haven’t done any since 2011.”

“Shut your mouth, _Sarge,_ ” Steve orders, twirling Bucky around and yanking their hips flush together. Bucky’s breath catches satisfyingly, and he makes a low sound in the back of his throat. Steve’s never been particularly dominant when it comes to sex; he’s been happy enough to let Bucky boss him around. But Bucky definitely seems to be into this, so Steve just rolls with it and splays his hands on the vulnerable birdcage of Bucky’s ribs.

Bucky sucks in a long breath and tips his head back against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve grinds slowly against Bucky’s ass and starts to kiss up the column of his neck. Bucky’s wearing different cologne than he used to, and it’s subtle, understated, like an afterthought on his skin. His breathing is getting heavier as he tilts his head to the side, pressing his hands on top of Steve’s, and starts to roll his hips to meet Steve’s thrusts. The friction is delicious, and Bucky moans, low in his throat.

“Fuck, sugar,” Steve chuckles and slides his hands down to grip Bucky’s hipbones. Bucky barely manages to swallow a gasp at the pet name. “You’re almost begging for it, aren’t you?” He leans closer and murmurs into Bucky’s ear, “You’re gonna look so pretty, sitting on my cock, taking it like you were born for it.”

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed for a second. Then he suddenly turns around, pushes Steve against the doorframe and drops down to his knees. “Not so hastily, baby,” he says, out of breath but grinning as he pops the buttons of Steve’s khakis open.

Steve drops his hand automatically on Bucky’s head, tugging the hair tie off and letting his hair fall down.

Bucky leans closer to mouth at the line of Steve’s cock through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, and Steve lets out a string of curses and thunks his head against the wall. Bucky has a mouth that was made for sucking cock. He’s got a clever tongue and so much sass that it makes people want to shut his mouth by feeding a dick in it.

Bucky drags his tongue up, a feather-light, teasing touch, until he gets to the head of Steve’s dick, pressing intently against the fabric, and sucks it in. Bucky’s mouth is sinfully hot even through the cotton, and Steve can only say “Oh, _fuck_ ,” while he tries not to buck up into the wet heat.

Bucky pulls Steve’s underwear down enough to get his cock free and pins his hips to the wall with his hands. He licks a long stripe from the shaft to the tip, pressing his tongue flat against the vein on the underside. When Steve groans, Bucky looks up and _smirks_ , the little shit.

Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s hair and pushes his head towards his cock. Bucky breathes in sharply, taking the hint, and slowly takes the head of Steve’s dick into his mouth, all the while looking up from beneath his lashes. Steve curses as he watches his cock slowly disappear between Bucky’s slick lips. Bucky goes down agonizingly slowly, until the tip hits the back of his throat, and then he flexes his throat and swallows, causing Steve’s brain to short out.

Bucky stops pretending he isn’t trying to make Steve come, and starts sucking him down with intent. Steve’s nerves feel like they’re about to explode, and he tightens his hand in Bucky’s hair in warning.

Bucky immediately lets go of Steve’s hips and opens his mouth wider, raising one eyebrow like an invitation.

“Shit,” Steve breathes as Bucky guides his free hand on his head, encouraging him. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says hoarsely after he pulls off. “Come on.” Then he opens his mouth again, and _Jesus_ , seeing him down on his knees like this feels like an electric current under Steve’s skin.

Steve pulls Bucky closer by his hair and slowly feeds his dick into Bucky’s waiting mouth. Steve leans his shoulders to the wall to stop his knees from giving out, bites his lip to keep himself from coming.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, and he makes small, muffled sounds of pleasure as Steve starts fucking his mouth in short, shallow thrusts. The wet, tight slide of Bucky’s lips around his dick hits every nerve in Steve’s body like a lightning, and he gasps Bucky’s name, grips his hair as the pressure builds in his gut.

Bucky hums around his dick, wraps his long fingers around the shaft and strokes it as he presses his tongue against a sweet spot just below the head. That does the trick: Steve’s vision goes white and he comes into Bucky’s mouth, hard, knees buckling and hips jerking. Bucky swallows easily, keeps him upright with his metal hand, and milks him through the aftershocks.

When Bucky pulls off of Steve’s dick with an obscene _pop_ , his mouth is red and shiny. Steve curses, yanks Bucky up by his hair and kisses him, hot and wet and dirty. “Get in the bedroom,” he orders, voice like gravel.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky quips. His voice is raw from Steve’s dick down his throat, and it makes something under Steve’s navel spasm involuntarily. Bucky moans breathlessly when Steve presses his hand against the bulge in Bucky’s jeans and kneads, slowly, mercilessly.

“Don’t sass me,” Steve scolds. “I’ll go switch the coffee maker off. Get your ass upstairs.”

Bucky’s eyes are dark and heated. “You love my sass, fucker,” he says, because he’s always had to get the last word, before he steps back and shakes the hair out of his face. There’s a delicious sway in his hips as he leaves the living room.

Steve listens to him go up the stairs, tucks his dick back into his pants and rushes to the kitchen. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, and he almost trips on a chair in his hurry to get upstairs.

 

When Steve enters the bedroom, Bucky’s sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands. He’s still fully clothed, but sprawled in a way that puts his agile, beautiful body on display. Steve wants to draw him, put him up in a museum so that the whole world can see how goddamn lucky Steve is. The curtains are drawn, but the lamp on the side table is on, casting the room in soft, golden glow.

“Did you go to offer coffee to Mrs. Henderson next door?” Bucky snarks, but his gaze is heavy-lidded and appreciative. “Took you awfully long.”

Steve strides over to the bed and crawls to Bucky, leans his hands on the bed and crowds into Bucky’s space. “So impatient, sugar,” he murmurs, slotting his nose next to Bucky’s, lips barely touching. His dick is starting to get hard again, thanks to his jacked up body. “I’m a little surprised I didn’t find you here with your own fingers up your ass.”

“I will soon if you don’t get to it,” Bucky says breathlessly and drags Steve into a kiss by his shirt. Steve presses him down on the bed, their bodies slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle, and starts trailing kisses down Bucky’s chin to his rapidly flushing neck. He puts his hands on Bucky’s hips and touches the warm skin under the hem of Bucky’s shirt with his fingertips.

“Wait, Steve, wait,” Bucky pants suddenly, grabs him by the wrist before he can push his hands further to explore.

Steve immediately sits back on his haunches and looks at him with concern. “Everything all right?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and he swallows, releases Steve’s wrist just as abruptly as he seized it. He looks a little nervous. “You’ve seen my tattoos. But under them… there’s a lot of scars. Really fucking lots of them, on my back and down both sides. You’ll probably be able to feel it. Just… so you know.”

Steve nods and slides his hands slowly under Bucky’s shirt, rucking it up until Bucky has to sit up a little and lift his arms to get it off. When the henley falls to the floor, Steve sucks in a stunned breath.

Bucky’s a fucking masterpiece.

He’s all ink and long, lean muscle; sculpted like a statue with the halo of dark hair around his head. _Hermes_ , Steve thinks, _protector of thieves and travelers_. His metal arm is stunning, all overlapping, shifting plates and gleaming surface. The skin between the tattoos is smooth and slightly tanned, and up close the pictures on Bucky’s skin are more detailed than Steve realized. They are incredibly beautiful, like pieces of art on his body: the wires and gears on his left flank are meticulously inked, while the cherry tree on his right side is more abstract, hazy like a long-lost memory.

As Steve traces the tattoos with his fingertips, he can feel the raised scars, cleverly hidden under ink. Bucky’s staring at him, something odd and vulnerable in his expression, and Steve leans down to kiss him; kisses the seam of flesh and metal, kisses the network of crisscrossing shrapnel scarring on his stomach.

Bucky draws in a shaky breath, and his abs quiver under Steve’s lips.

“You’re fucking _stunning_ ,” Steve murmurs between kisses. “You’re alive and you’re home and you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky chokes out, and Steve takes the chance to open Bucky’s jeans and wriggle his hand into his underwear.

“Shit, are these painted on?” he asks and cups Bucky’s hard cock with minor difficulties. Bucky’s hips jerk and he curses. “How do you even walk in jeans this tight?”

“It’s called skill and fashion, asshole,” Bucky snipes back, and this bickering is so familiar that momentarily Steve feels like his heart is cracking open. “You’ve probably never heard of it, since you dress like a grandpa.”

Steve chuckles to cover how touched he is and starts stroking Bucky’s dick with his thumb, making Bucky gasp and tip his head back. There’s a delicious blush creeping down his throat.

“Don’t move,” Steve orders and wrestles Bucky’s skintight pants and underwear down his long legs, until he’s fully naked, tanned and gorgeous on the sheets.

The machine tattoo goes further than Steve realized. It sweeps over the jut of Bucky’s hipbone and reaches down to his upper thigh. Bucky must’ve been on the right side of the bomb when it exploded, because the left side of his body is a lot more damaged than the right.

Steve yanks his own sweater and t-shirt off and takes Bucky’s hot, thick cock back in his hand. He flicks his wrist a little, thumbs the head, and Bucky almost keens.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky rasps and drags his heavy-lidded gaze up Steve’s chest, reaching out a hand to rub Steve’s nipple.

Steve swats his hand away, then grabs Bucky’s wrists and presses them against the mattress next to his head, caging Bucky in. “I told you to _not move_ ,” he says in a low voice.

Bucky goes very, very still, his eyes fluttering closed. Momentarily Steve realizes that _shit_ , holding him down isn’t probably the best idea, after everything he’s gone through with HYDRA.

He’s just about to let go and apologize, when Bucky opens his eyes, pupils blown so wide that the grey is only a thin rim. The look goes straight into Steve’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky says, and Jesus, he sounds _wrecked_. “Oh, _shit_.”

“You like this, baby?” Steve murmurs, cants his hips down until their dicks are pressing together through Steve’s khakis, and Bucky inhales sharply, bites back a moan. “You want me to hold you down while you take it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky pants. “Yeah, shit, come on. Where’s the lube?”

Steve kisses him. “Hold up a second, I’ll get it.”

He gets up and strips out of his pants as quickly as he can before digging through the nightstand for the lube. Bucky rolls onto his stomach and pillows his head on his arms. The cherry blossom petals inked on his skin are delicate and lovely above the swell of his ass.

Steve finds the lube, half-empty and shucked in the farthest corner of the drawer, but there’s still a small problem left. “Fuck, we don’t have any condoms. We never needed them.”

Bucky turns to look at him and frowns. “I’m clean,” he says, still breathing heavily. “I got tested just in case those HYDRA assholes stuck me with a dirty needle. Haven’t had sex since you.”

The confession eases the ugly, uncoiling jealousy in Steve’s stomach, because the thought that Bucky might’ve fucked someone else back in Russia had crossed his mind. “Me neither,” he says, smiles a little. “Besides, I don’t think that I could even catch anything, with the serum.”

Bucky snorts and curves his back in a smooth movement. He’s like a cat, pushing his ass up deliciously. “Problem solved. Get your fingers in me before I lose my patience.”

Steve climbs back on the bed and swats him on the ass, making him curse. “You’re just as awfully pushy as I remember.” He slicks his fingers and rubs them slowly against Bucky’s hole.

“Fuck you,” Bucky pants into the sheets, tilts his ass back for more. “You like it when I boss you around.”

“Fuck, I do,” Steve agrees and slowly pushes a finger in. Bucky’s tight, but he relaxes his muscles and waits patiently while Steve lets him adjust.

“You done this to yourself lately, Buck?” Steve asks in a low, intimate voice, as he waits it out, rubbing his other hand along Bucky’s flank. “Fingered yourself until you came, wishing it was a real dick?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes and moves experimentally, encouraging Steve to start moving his finger. “In - _uhh_ \- the warehouse, the night after I agreed to wait for you.”

Steve swallows involuntarily, his dick twitching against Bucky’s hip. He crooks his finger and Bucky moans loudly. “Really,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me about it, baby.”

“I thought about you,” Bucky pants, “bending me - ah, _fuck_ , right there, Steve - over the desk and-- and Sam’s goddamn styrofoam models, _shit_ , and m-making me beg for it.”

He’s loose enough that Steve can slip a second finger in. “Keep going,” he orders and bites his lip to concentrate on stretching Bucky instead of rutting against him like a hormonal teenager. He crooks his fingers again, and Bucky’s whole body spasms.

“Fuck,” Bucky moans. “Imagined you eating me out until I was wet and - _ah, fuck -_ aching for your cock. F-fucked myself over your _\--_ your desk with my pants around my thighs, thinking h-how good your hard, fat dick would feel in my ass.”

Jesus, _that’s_ a thought. Steve goes a little weak in his knees, imagining the scene, and he has to clench his jaw and dig the fingers of his free hand in Bucky’s hip to stop himself from grabbing his dick.

Steve grinds his crotch against Bucky’s ass as he carefully adds a third finger. Bucky’s sweating and panting, cursing like a sailor, but he still pushes back on Steve’s fingers.

“You ready to take this, sugar?” Steve murmurs, leans over Bucky’s back and trails his lips on the tattoos. He rocks his cock right next to where his fingers are slowly fucking Bucky’s slick, wet hole.

“Yeah, _yeah_ ,” Bucky chokes out. “Come on, fuck me.”

Steve presses a kiss onto the small of Bucky’s back and pulls his fingers out. “Turn around, baby.”

Bucky rolls onto his back. He’s flushed all the way from his face to his chest, eyes bright, breathing heavily. His cock’s leaking against his stomach, and his hair’s fanned out on the pillow. Bucky’s had short hair as long as Steve can remember, but hell, he’s so gorgeous like this.

Steve’s hand trembles as he slicks his cock and lines it up against Bucky’s hole, pushing in slowly. Bucky’s slick and hot and _so tight_ , and he makes an almost wounded noise when Steve bottoms out. Steve leans over him and pins him into the bed with his body and hands, waiting until Bucky murmurs an encouragement to move.

When Steve rocks experimentally inside him, Bucky moans and bucks up from the bed, but Steve shoves him back down, squeezes his wrists to the sheets.

“Stay down, Sarge,” he orders, hot and breathless against Bucky’s ear.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath and moans low in his throat. He tests the hold a little, finding it tight enough to keep him down but loose enough to break if things get overwhelming. His gaze is hot and heavy, and he licks his lips unconsciously. Steve leans in to suck his red bottom lip into his mouth for a moment.

“Get on with the program, then, _sir_ ,” Bucky bitches, but his eyes roll back in his head when Steve complies and starts fucking him in short, sharp thrusts.

Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s hips and tilts his head back, moaning his appreciation. Bucky’s always been vocal about his pleasure, and it’s always driven Steve crazy.

“You’re a menace,” Steve pants against his lips, amazed that they both are still capable of forming words. Bucky’s ass is squeezing his dick with every thrust, rubbing deliciously, and Steve feels the pleasure build, knowing that he won’t last very long.

“Get up, I want to ride you,” Bucky pants, pushes his metal hand off the bed and out of Steve’s hold to shove at Steve’s shoulder.

Steve complies, pulls out and rolls onto his back, squeezes the base of his cock to keep himself from coming. He watches, mesmerized, as Bucky throws his long, toned leg over his body, shoves Steve’s hand away and takes Steve’s cock in his metal hand, lining up. The touch of cool metal is startling but not unpleasant, and the pressure feels incredible; Steve’s hips jerk and Bucky barks a breathless laugh.

“My robot arm turn you on, baby?” he asks, smirking, and Steve nods, helplessly.

Bucky tips his head back as he sinks slowly down on Steve’s dick, the line of his body almost glowing in the yellow light. Steve groans as he bottoms out, and Bucky starts rocking back and forth on his dick, circling his hips in a slow, agonizing rhythm. Bucky braces his hands back on Steve’s knees, and Steve watches the way his body moves, exquisite and graceful.

Bucky shifts slightly, and Steve bends his knees, thrusts his hips up. The change of the angle makes Steve’s cock hit Bucky’s prostate, and Bucky gasps out a loud “Fuck!”, starts fucking himself faster. Steve hangs on desperately, gripping Bucky’s hips, and watches his dick disappear into Bucky’s stunning body.

“I’m close,” Steve manages to rasp, thrusting up to meet Bucky. The pressure is building in his gut, tight and urgent and electric.

“Come inside me,” Bucky gasps, wraps his metal fingers around his own dick and starts jerking off in uncoordinated movements, clearly close. Steve rolls Bucky’s right nipple between his fingertips, flicks the sensitive nub, and Bucky moans, his movements frantic and needy. He presses his thumb against his slit, slams himself down on Steve’s cock, and comes with a hoarse, ragged shout, making a mess on his stomach.

He keeps rocking on Steve’s cock, riding out his orgasm, head tipped back, sweat glistening on his body. His ass clenches around Steve’s dick, hot and delicious, and then Bucky rasps a breathless laugh and says, “Give it to me, baby,” and that’s what tips Steve over.

Steve arches up the bed, squeezes Bucky’s tattooed hip with his right hand with a bruising force, and comes so hard that his toes are curling. Bucky clenches his ass again, milking him, and Steve groans, hits his head against the pillow. The orgasm feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

Bucky collapses on him, Steve’s wet, softening dick sliding out of his body. Steve wraps his arms around him, and Bucky sighs, turning his head so that he can nose the sweaty hollow of Steve’s neck.

“Fuck,” Bucky murmurs. “I can‘t feel my legs.”

Steve laughs and rubs the small of his back. Bucky wriggles a little at the contact, and Steve lets his hand wander lower, until he can slip two fingers in Bucky’s used, slick hole.

Bucky startles, then chuckles breathlessly and lets Steve lazily play with his ass, arching up to it a little. “Mm,” he says, and Steve can feel his mouth turn up into a smirk against his skin. “You should get me a plug, make me walk around in public with your come still inside me.”

Steve breathes in sharply, and his crotch jolts even though he just came. Bucky props himself up and crosses his arms on Steve’s chest, smirks lazily at him. “Think about it. You could just bend me over anytime, and I’d be all wet and ready for your cock.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve says, shakes his head. He rubs the cleft of Bucky’s ass with his thumb and crooks his fingers a bit.

Bucky makes a low sound, but then rolls away from Steve’s loose hold. “Getting sensitive, Casanova,” he says and yawns.

Steve kisses a tattooed cogwheel on his back and gets up, goes to fetch a warm, damp towel to clean them up.

While Steve strips the soiled sheet off the bed and flings it towards the hamper, Bucky staggers to the linen closet to grab a fresh one. They put in the new sheet and slip in, sleepy and content.

Steve gathers Bucky in his arms and noses his sweaty hair, inhaling the familiar smell. Bucky sighs, wraps his human fingers around Steve’s hand resting on his stomach. His skin is warm, and that’s when Steve remembers the ring.

He holds Bucky close for a couple of minutes, then presses a kiss on his shoulder. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Bucky makes a displeased noise, stretches into the sheets. His dark hair and tattoos look stark and vibrant against the white cotton, and Steve’s fingers itch for a pen and paper. Before Bucky appeared as Yasha, Steve hadn’t drawn in four years, but now he has a sketchbook on the kitchen table that’s half-filled with drawings of Yasha and the rest of their team.

In hindsight, it’s not surprising that Yasha was what eventually brought him out of his dry spell, because Bucky was always his favourite subject, before.

He pads to the spare room, naked and barefoot, and opens the lid of the box closest to the door. The ring box is where he thought it would be, and he snatches it up, in a hurry to get back to bed.

At the bedroom door he pauses. The sun has come out again, and a beam of light slants between the haphazardly closed curtains, hitting the seam where Bucky’s metal arm blends into tattooed skin, highlighting the auburn hues in his hair. For a moment Steve can’t breathe. In the soft light Bucky looks ethereal, like a warrior from myths, and he’s so beautiful that it makes Steve ache all over.

He slides between the sheets and wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist again, pulls him closer; Bucky lets out a happy sigh and presses back against him. His metal shoulder is warm to the touch, even in the cool air of the room.

“I have something for you,” Steve says softly in his ear, and when Bucky turns his head to look at him, he puts the small box in Bucky’s hand.

Bucky goes very quiet as he opens it and stares at the simple white gold ring. Steve knows he must’ve noticed how faded the box is, and the buying date stamped in tiny print on the inside of the lid: the ring was bought long before Steve blurted out the clumsy proposal in Helsinki.

“You don’t have to accept it,” Steve stammers, needing to explain himself somehow. “I-- I just wanted to give it to you. You don’t have to say yes, not yet, or ever, if you don’t want to. I know things have changed since Helsinki, I just--”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice rough and a little wet. “Shut the fuck up and put this on me.”

Steve does. He takes the ring carefully out of the box, and Bucky holds out his right, flesh-and-bone hand so that Steve can slide the band on his fourth finger. It fits perfectly.

“Jesus,” Bucky says as they both stare at it. He’s definitely teary now. “Shit, Steve. You fucking sap, you had this planned before Regatta.”

Steve laughs wetly and pulls him closer, soaks in the warmth of Bucky’s body. He’s suddenly intensely, almost violently grateful that they got another chance, and he presses a kiss in Bucky’s dark hair. “I bought the ring on impulse. Then I spent six months gathering courage, and ended up proposing when the actual ring was over 4000 miles away.”

Bucky snorts. “Good intentions, lots of planning, yet a 100 percent of making-it-up-as-I-go. Sounds like you, _vitun urpo_.”

Steve makes a mock-wounded noise because now he knows what the insult means. Then he laughs, and strokes Bucky’s stomach with his thumb. “Yeah, gotta admit.”

Bucky laughs, too. “You’re lucky that I’m marrying your reckless ass. Who else’s gonna keep you out of trouble?”

Steve kisses his jaw. “Nobody,” he swears, smiling so hard that he thinks his face is gonna split in half.

“Damn right,” Bucky says, drowsy and satisfied. He shifts his bare ass against Steve’s crotch and hums a little. “Give me a 30-minute nap and I’m ready to go again. I’ve slept like shit this week.”

Steve laughs and tightens his hold a fraction. “Anything for you, sugar.”

Bucky burrows his head into the pillow and yawns, puts his hand on top of Steve’s. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “When I wake up, I’m gonna jerk you off with my left hand.” Then he promptly falls asleep, like a switch was flipped.

Steve chuckles fondly, closes his eyes, and matches his breathing to Bucky’s. As he drifts towards sleep, he thinks about the July night when they fell asleep in their apartment in Helsinki, freshly engaged and high on happiness, like a couple much younger than they were.

 _I’d give you the world_ , he remembers thinking, listening to the last trams of the night clanging their way back to the depot. The window was open to let the cooler night air in, and Bucky’s skin was sticky with drying sweat against his. _But only if it were worthy of you._

\--

They end up leaving late for the debrief, and Bucky sends a text to Clint to tell him that they’re running late. Their rendezvous point is in a ratty hotel in Bed-Stuy; it’s not far, but the traffic is hell at this time of the day, and finding a parking spot for the rental takes ages.

When they finally walk into the hotel room, Natasha looks up from her tablet and nods at Steve, a hint of smile at the corner of her mouth. But when she sees Bucky - clean-shaven, hair pulled up, wearing Steve’s navy sweater under his leather jacket, no glasses in sight - she shoots up from her chair, an alarmed and mildly shocked expression on her face. The tablet clatters to the floor, drawing the attention of the rest of their team.

“Barnes,” she says, and there’s a slight tremor in her voice, but at least she hasn’t pulled a gun on them. Sam’s mouth falls open and Clint knocks his coffee over while Bruce just blinks, surprised. Steve puts his hand on the small of Bucky’s back, under the leather jacket, and hopes for the best. Bucky is stupidly warm under his hand.

Bucky grins and scratches the back of his head with his metal hand, abashed. “Hey, Romanoff,” he says. “I guess I owe you a pretty fucking good explanation.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com)!
> 
> "Vitun urpo" is a beautiful and loving phrase in Finnish, meaning "you fucking moron".


End file.
